“Stomach mixture?” She looked aghast. “You don’t suspect us, do you?”
“Of course not. But someone could have added a poison to it. It was the only thing in her bathroom that could easily have been tampered with.”
“Oh, I see.”
“So we can have that tested. And you know what?” Another brilliant idea hit me. “You have some of her hair. I’m sure doctors can test hair for traces of arsenic.”
“What’s this?” Ned appeared at Emily’s side. “Who wants something tested for arsenic?”
“We do,” Emily said. “We have hair that we’d like tested for arsenic. Is that something you could do, Ned?”
Ned frowned. “You suspect someone of arsenic poisoning?”
“Probably not, but we’d just like to make sure. Is that the kind of test that you could conduct for us?”
“I think so,” Ned said. “It’s a simple enough test, I gather. Not that I’ve ever been called upon to run it, but I have to warn you that traces of arsenic often show up in a person for the most innocent of reasons. For example, wallpaper often contains arsenic, especially the new green floral papers that are so popular.”
“But you mean someone would have to soak wallpapers and make a person drink the liquid?” I asked.
Ned shook his head. “No, they give off fumes.”
“Mercy me,” Emily said, looking quite alarmed. “So you’re saying that most people will show some trace of arsenic in their systems?”
“Probably,” Ned said. “And don’t forget that many tonics and medications contain a small amount. It’s used to treat plenty of diseases, too—including syphilis.”
Emily blushed. “Oh, I don’t think there’s any question of . . .”
“Of course not.” Ned grinned. “But all I was suggesting was that a trace of arsenic in hair would not necessarily mean a person was being poisoned.”
“I see,” I said. “But more than a trace?”
He grinned. “Ah, then that’s a different matter altogether. So bring me the hair, Emily, and I’ll see what I can do, all right?”
“Thank you, Ned,” she said, gazing at him adoringly.
I left them and went home, content that I had done everything I could. If arsenic showed up in the hair sample, then we’d have to test the stomach mixture. Again, all we had to do was wait. By now I had received replies in the negative from all of the missionary societies, although the Baptists had shown a couple called Bosman on their books some thirty years ago. Was it possible that Emily’s kin had somehow got the name wrong? It seemed unlikely. One thing I was sure of was that Horace Lynch had known more than he was willing to tell me. There was something about Emily’s background that needed to be kept from her. And then, of course, I couldn’t help thinking about her complete collapse with a sick headache yesterday. Was there some kind of mental instability in the family—a parent in a mental institution, perhaps? I was keen to take that journey to Aunt Lydia’s hometown to find out the truth for myself, but I realized that it wasn’t a trip I could make there and back in one day. And attending the funeral was important. Perhaps I would learn something from the demeanor of those who came to it.
So I spent my free day finding out how to get to Williamstown, Massachusetts. I was surprised to find that it was not at all in the direction I had expected it to be. I had thought of Massachusetts in terms of Boston and a train ride up the coast, but it seemed that Williamstown was in the far northwest of the state and would be reached by traveling due north from New York—nowhere near Boston. It seemed as if it would be a long journey, with a change of trains in Springfield, and then I would have to find a cheap place to stay. I reminded myself that Emily was not able to pay me much—unless I could prove that she was the rightful heiress to a fortune, in which case I’d ask for more. I also reminded myself that my last client had just died without paying me a cent.